


3. Smoke in Your Eyes and Stars in Your Heart

by victoriousscarf



Series: 30 Au Challenge [1]
Category: DCU
Genre: Alternate Universe - Cold War, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Spies & Secret Agents, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-23
Updated: 2016-11-23
Packaged: 2018-09-01 15:45:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8629783
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/victoriousscarf/pseuds/victoriousscarf
Summary: It's like this: Standing on other sides of a battlefield, exchanging looks and cigarettes and memories and bullets and pretending you don't care, you never cared, and it doesn't matter that suddenly you're looking at each other over cold metal.Or: Dick and Jason have always known how to destroy each other, it was just never supposed to like this, ducking in and out of alleyways and drop sites, watching rockets launch to the moon, and seeing walls go up between two halves of the world.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah this wasn't my plan either.
> 
> However, every once and a while, I care too much about the Cold War.
> 
> So the challenge is 30 Days of an AU but let's be honest here I'm not going to manage that so you're just (presumably) getting 30 Jay/Dick au stories of varying lengths as I've already started like 4 of them and this idea has been knocking around way too long in my head. I'm sorta cheating on the 1950s thing because this story is going to bleed forward and backward quite a bit. 
> 
> Trying something different, so the story skips around time pretty frequently. Which, presumably, is going to continue. 
> 
> Tags to be added/changed as time goes on.

_London, late November, 1958_

“It’s not personal,” Jason said, and Dick’s aim was wild, shooting the wall over Jason’s head.

“It’s always personal, you son of a bitch,” Dick said and Jason just grinned, swinging himself up on the fire escape. Dick hesitated for a second, glancing back over his shoulder at the informant he had been courting for months, now laying on the ground, surrounded by their own blood.

There was no chance she was still alive, so Dick took a running jump at the fire escape, dragging himself up after Jason.

“It’d be better not to follow,” Jason called over his shoulder, jumping across to the nearby roof.

Dick just shook his head, following, and Jason stumbled on his way down into another alley, almost allowing Dick to catch up. “You didn’t have to shoot her!” Dick said as Jason turned around, firing a shot off and much like Dick’s had earlier, it went up too far, but the splinter of brick from the impact hitting his face made Dick flinch.

“Come on, Dickie bird,” Jason said. “You know that’s the way things are.”

Dick jumped down the last several feet from the fire escape, and by the time he had his bearings, Jason had bolted across the street, somehow dodging the cars. Across the busy street, he flipped Dick a mocking salute.

When Dick reached the other side of the street, he was gone.

Punching the side of the wall, he turned and strolled down the sidewalk, his hands in his coat pockets to hide the blood on his right cuff. Reaching a payphone, he shouldered his way in, glancing around before calling Bruce.

“Jason’s in town,” he said, when Bruce picked up.

“In London?” Bruce asked.

“Yeah,” Dick said.

“The information—”

“Gone,” Dick said, and hung back up. Later he would have to go in and report to Bruce, lay out every horrible thing that had gone wrong in less than an hour, and maybe try and plan. Maybe Tim would figure out some way to counteract Jason this time.

More likely they would be stuck chasing Jason’s wild card attics and hoping for the best.

With luck it wouldn’t turn out like Berlin.

_Early Spring, Outskirts of London, 1949_

“Come on, Dick, you can run faster than that,” Jason said, ducking into their backyard, Dick only a foot behind him.

“Of course I _can_ ,” he said. “But you cheated.”

“You’re just a sore loser,” Jason said, and something about his bright smile made Dick’s stomach turn over. He was so different from the surly and angry child that Bruce had dragged home one day, defensive and fast talking and sharp.

Sometimes Dick wondered if he reached out if he would cut himself on Jason’s rage.

But the first night, Jason had crawled into his bed, shaking. “I’m afraid,” he said and Dick blinked at him, because he had almost been asleep.

“Why?” he asked, without thinking about it as he rolled over and draped and arm over Jason, stealing his heat since he had let all the cold air in.

“This Bruce,” Jason said and there was just enough light coming through the windows. “I don’t know a thing about him. But you do. You know.”

“I do,” Dick said.

“Is he,” Jason started and Dick realized why he was scared all at once. “Is he safe?”

“He’ll save your life,” Dick whispered.

“But is he safe?” Jason asked.

“I don’t know,” Dick said, because Bruce was still an enigma to him, loving and desperate and cold all at once, and some days Dick would rage at him, would feel like Bruce cut him apart and tried to stitch him back together.

He figured that was the price he paid for living with a spy.

“Do you trust him?” Jason asked.

“Yes,” Dick said, even though the answer half the time was _no_.

But it hadn’t been worth it to tell Jason that then, and he would never now. Not when Jason beamed at him, happy and flushed from their mad dash through the lazy streets.

“I’m not a sore loser,” Dick said. “You _cheated_. If you hadn’t given yourself a head start, I would have won.”

“Yeah, but,” and Jason leaned up close and Dick blinked, wishing he would keep his distance. He wasn’t sure how he felt when Jason got too close, too warm, too much for the space around Dick. “The point of winning is to use anything you have to achieve it. Including cheating.”

“So you admit you cheat,” Dick said, shoving his shoulder. He hoped it came off as playful and not desperate for Jason to be _away_.

“Yeah, okay,” Jason shrugged, looping off toward the house. “I’ll make you a sandwich to make up for it.”

“Sure,” Dick said but when they entered the house they both froze, to see Clark Kent in their living room.

“What,” Jason started and Dick pulled him away, up the stairs. “Isn’t that the Prime Minister?”

“Yeah,” Dick said, like it was nothing.

“But,” Jason said.

“It just means we’re supposed to be quiet,” Dick said.

Jason looked at him like he was uncertain about something, like he wanted to ask again if Dick trusted Bruce.

With his life, but sometimes he didn’t think that was enough.

_Summer, 1955_

“You don’t have to do this,” Dick said, as Jason stepped off the lift.

“I never did,” Jason agreed, cocksure and Dick fell into step beside him. “Hey, did anyone tell _you_ that or were they just so excited you signed on?”

“Which still doesn’t mean _you_ have to,” Dick said.

“Hey, you followed in daddy’s footsteps,” Jason started.

“He’s not my father,” Dick said automatically, even if it barely mattered.

“More yours than mine,” Jason said and they were at the door to the office. Jason reached forward and Dick covered his hand with his. “Hey,” Jason said, meeting Dick’s eyes. “You’re doing this too, don’t take the moral high ground with me.”

“I’m not,” Dick said. “But you don’t have to do this.”

“I want to protect my country too, you know,” Jason said, eyes blazing and Dick realized too late he was still holding Jason’s hand so he let go. “Besides, maybe we can work together, in this grand world of espionage.”

“It’s not grand,” Dick said but Jason was already through the door and it felt like part of Dick’s life he was never going to get back had died.

_Winter, 1955_

“Dick,” Bruce said on the other end of the line and Dick frowned, because he was standing in a hotel lobby in Rome, idly watching the man who was selling information to the Soviets across the gilt and glittering room.

“Honey, you should know better than to call me here,” Dick said, tensing as he watched the man start to gather his entourage. He would be leaving soon and Dick had to follow.

“This is important.”

“How important?” Dick asked after a beat. He had to look like he wasn’t watching and it was getting more and more difficult.

“I wanted to wait until you returned, but it would be worse if you found out by accident,” Bruce said and Dick felt a shiver crawl up his spine.

“What is it?” he asked, hand going white on the phone and the man was at the door he was about to be lost to Dick’s sight—

“Jason is dead,” and Dick hung the phone up, only white noise in his ears and the man was gone, leaving Dick alone in an opulent lobby, gold gliding up the staircases, and diamonds glittering on all the women, laughter a distant sound as everyone around him kept moving, kept living.

_Berlin, 1956, February_

 It was raining when Dick walked away from the American sector of Berlin and into the Soviet.

He whistled to himself as his eyes roved back and forth. So far things had been working out well, which only made him that much more suspicious that any second it was going to go wrong again.

A hand reached out and covered his mouth as someone dragged him back from behind. Dick waited until they were back in the alley to start struggling, not wanting to draw attention to either of them—at least not yet.

“Hello, Dick,” a warm voice breathed in his ear and Dick froze, eyes frantically trying to see all the way behind his head.

Because—because he was dead—

Except there Jason stood, arms around Dick and holding him in the shadows, as if Dick hadn’t stood over his grave, sobbing so hard Barbara had supported him to keep him from falling, as Bruce stood motionless beside them, as if Jason had never mattered at all.

Dick had been the only one unable to control his emotions and later that would make him angry—at himself and everyone else there. It felt like he had cried for all of them as well as himself.

“You lied to us,” Dick said, grabbing Jason’s hand and dragging it away from his mouth.

“Yeah,” Jason said and they both knew what that meant. They had both been raised in Bruce Wayne’s house. “What are you doing in Berlin, Dickie?”

“Go to hell,” Dick snapped and the corner of Jason’s mouth twitched up. There were new scars, Dick realized with detachment, a jagged cut up his cheek and toward his ear, a smaller one through his eyebrow.

“Already been there,” Jason said.

“Then what brings you to Berlin?” Dick asked, and there was a smile on his face.

“You mean instead of hell?” Jason asked, and Dick wanted to cling to him, to touch the side of his face and convince himself Jason was standing there, alive and warm and breathing. He wanted to rest his face against his chest and feel the air entering and leaving. Instead there was frosty air and lies between them.

“Guess,” Jason said, with a sardonic smile and Dick wanted to run more than he ever had before.

“I’m not going to let you,” Dick said.

“I’m going to enjoy watching you try and stop me,” Jason said.

Later, Dick found a phone, across the street from the man he was supposed to be protecting. “Jason is alive,” he said and he could hear the silence on the other end, the heavy moment.

“I know,” Bruce said.

“You knew,” Dick snarled, not much of a question.

“I didn’t want to distract you from the mission,” Bruce said. “I didn’t know before, I wouldn’t lie to you—”

“I think there was a time I believed anything you said,” Dick said and hung up the phone. Above him, the streetlights shone, reflecting off the falling snow and for a moment Dick let himself stare at it. But he had a job to do, someone to extract from Berlin and drag back to London so he squared his shoulders and pulled his coat closer and pretended he didn’t want to fall down.


End file.
